


Take Control

by DontDissEinstein



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ass Play, Consent, Explicit Consent, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Rimming, bottomlock, rimming is my One True Kink ok expect to see more of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 05:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6105892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontDissEinstein/pseuds/DontDissEinstein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John likes taking control in bed, likes showing Sherlock exactly how much pleasure his body can hold, knows exactly where and how to touch to turn his lover and best friend into a trembling, pliable mess. Mostly John is fine with holding the reins, with Sherlock arching and shaking beneath him. But occasionally, John wants it another way. And naturally, the first time he asks, it doesn’t quite go according to plan.</p><p>(In a nutshell, John wants switchlock but bottomlock happens instead. Enjoy.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Control

John likes taking control in bed, likes showing Sherlock exactly how much pleasure his body can hold, knows exactly where and how to touch to turn his lover and best friend into a trembling, pliable mess. Mostly John is fine with holding the reins, with Sherlock arching and shaking beneath him.

But occasionally, John wants it another way. And naturally, the first time he asks, it doesn’t quite go according to plan. The problem, of course, is Sherlock’s uncertainty, his hesitation at being asked to do something he hasn’t read up on beforehand. He’s eager to please, pinning John’s hands on the pillow, but his uncertainty betrays him. His mouth is soft and unsure on John’s neck instead of hard and possessive like John wants.

Something snaps inside John, a spark of irritation only sharpened by desire, a kick back to his army days, the single-mindedness of _you will follow orders, or I’ll bloody well teach you to_.

John breaks Sherlock’s hold and has him on his back in a flash. Sherlock huffs in surprise, affronted at being told he’s doing something wrong, only to suck his breath back in at the dark, burning, unmistakeable look in John’s eyes.

“When I say I want you to take _control_ ,” John growls from just above Sherlock’s crotch, “I mean like _this_.” And he positively dives at Sherlock, strong hands forcing Sherlock’s thighs up and further apart, then holding his arse cheeks apart and planting an open-mouthed kiss to Sherlock’s arsehole.

Sherlock seems to melt and go rigid all at once. His head falls back on the pillow and a ragged gasp escapes his throat - though he’s normally all but silent - but he obediently bends his knees nearly to his chest, leaving John plenty of room to work.

They haven’t done this before - not this, very specific, very intimate act, John’s wet mouth on Sherlock’s hot, aching arsehole - and John, despite the near-anger that sparked this turn of events, is still switched on enough to think: he needs to know that it’s not too much for Sherlock.

“Sherlock,” he says, nose level with his lover’s balls, and Sherlock opens his eyes and lifts his head from the pillow to look down, past his heaving chest, at John.

“Sherlock, you need to make noise, okay?” John is aware that his mouth will be far too busy to ask, soon. “You have to promise me - just keep making noise so I know if you need me to stop.”

Sherlock nods and there’s a faint rumble that might have been a “yes, John,” and John sets back to work, kissing from Sherlock’s balls to his arse and kissing his hole like he would kiss his mouth, wet and open and hungry. Half a minute of this and Sherlock still hasn’t said anything, forcing John to pause and growl, “Sherlock, _noise_ ,” and it’s like he’s unstoppered something because Sherlock gives another great, ragged gasp and whispers an audible, “yes, John, please,” which is all the encouragement John needs.

His hands spread Sherlock’s cheeks and he starts to lave at his arsehole, and each lick earns him a little “ah” sound, first in Sherlock’s deep baritone, rising before long to something much closer to a whimper.

John’s working his tongue slowly inside, past that tight, tight ring of muscle bit by bit, and yes, it hurts his jaw but it’s so, so worth it for the way Sherlock is taking it. His hands are fisted in the sheets as if he’s holding on for dear life, and the sounds he’s making, though quiet, are definitely whimpers now, interspersed with enormous gasps and silent shudders that John can feel through the whole bed.

Occasionally John strays upward to kiss and lick at Sherlock’s perineum, to play with his balls, to suck the pre-come from Sherlock’s dripping cock, but he always returns to licking that hot, fluttering, pink arsehole, seeing how far he can force the tip of his tongue before the strain in his jaw, his shoulder becomes too much.

And all the while, Sherlock’s desperate rhythm of “ah, hah, ah, ah” keep telling him that this is good, this is okay, keep going. A sense of power is coursing through John Watson’s veins, the glorious knowledge that yet again he’s bringing Sherlock pleasure in a way nobody else has done before, and John’s own cock is rock-hard where it’s pressed against the mattress.

At last, John lifts his head and growls, “Sherlock. Touch yourself.”

This earns another ragged gasp as Sherlock scrambles to do as he’s told, plus a very distinct whimper at the combination of John’s tongue in his arse and his own hand wrapped tight around his leaking cock, pumping the slick head in and out of his fist, and now he’s straight-out gasping John’s name.

This whole situation is not exactly dignified, to be clear - Sherlock’s arrythmic tugging is making his balls jiggle in John’s face, while John is working harder than ever, fighting the cramp building in his jaw and his damn shoulder, trying to concentrate on hearing and watching Sherlock come undone around him. His own neglected cock leaks onto the sheets.

Finally, Sherlock’s whimpering stops completely, breath catching in his chest as he comes and comes and comes, silently, John’s tongue curling and Sherlock’s fist pumping him through it.

And at last, Sherlock pulls on John’s hair, asking him to crawl back up the bed and hold him. John does so, heedless of the mess, pulling Sherlock with his still-heaving chest close to him.

“John,” Sherlock says, voice back to his regular baritone, though still ragged, “That was.” He stops. “Can you ever expect me to _take control_ if this is what happens when I don’t?”

John smiles ruefully into Sherlock’s hair. “Got a bit carried away. I was hoping you’d learn by example.”

Sherlock glances down at John’s still-hard cock. He runs a hand over John’s chest and flicks a nipple, making him jump, before kissing his way downward.

“John,” he rumbles, lips caressing John’s inner thigh. “You know I was taking notes.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for Smut Sunday on my tumblr a few weeks ago but it got kind of long so I figured it was worth posting here was well. Let me know if you enjoyed it!


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